


Home We'll Go

by Milu_i



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Peter is a Little Shit, Peter is their adoptive son, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Pre-Spider Man: Homecoming, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-11-30 03:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milu_i/pseuds/Milu_i
Summary: When Peter returns home from an awful schooltrip to Oscorp, he finds himself in the ruins of his fathers' Civil War.OrIn which Peter kidnaps an innocent Stark Industries employee, jets around the world to bring his family back together and ends up getting saved by the Avengers.





	1. keep trying, denying, we're living a lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Music tip:**  
>  **Methal ft. X Ambassadors - Cycles**  
>  [no link available yet, search on Spotify]

 

**chapter 1:  
** _keep trying, denying, we're living a lie_

 

* * *

 

 _“We’ll always be your family. No matter what.”_  
A gentle kiss onto his head.  
A hand that brushes the tears off of his red cheeks.

 _“Do you promise?”  
_ A smile, genuine and full of love.

_“We promise.”_

 

“…dad?”  
Dead silence. He blinks up at the white ceiling above him, confused and lost, until his mind catches up with him and the lingering dream at the edge of his consciousness. Right. He is on the couch in the living room, Avengers Tower, New York. No dad, no pops, no anybody.  
And still he tries to cling to the quickly dissolving memory, because it was whole and good and not about to be shattered by stupid opinions and arguments.

“Friday, what time is it?” he mumbles groggily and tries to sit up, when the ache in his neck from sleeping on the couch – no matter how expensive – adds a quiet groan to the teenager’s words.  
The A.I. complies and ignores his little sound of discomfort, because she is not Jarvis and there is no Tony to right her behavior, ever since they moved out to the Avengers’ facility just on the outskirts of New York City. Peter can fix it on his own easily, a snarky little voice in the back of his mind says, but he ignores it together with the knowledge that he is genuinely sulking.  
He knows it makes sense. During weekdays he stays at the tower, close to the school and his friends, on weekends he drives out to the facility to see his family. He doesn’t have a problem with that, he really doesn’t, but after the drama around this Sokovia mess started –

He feels left out.  
And alone.

“It is Saturday morning, 9:04 a.m.”

And a little bit afraid, if he is being honest with himself.  
Because the media is going crazy, accusations and worst case scenarios are thrown out from exclusive morning shows to dubious tweets. He knows most of them are bullshit, his fathers are probably laughing about the insanity of it all together at the facility right now, waiting for him to come home, but if they are not, if things are really, really bad between them (worse than the whole Ultron fiasco)…

“Mr. Hogan is calling you, sir. Shall I put him through?”

“Sure,” he answers the mechanic voice (it’s not real, no matter how hard his dad tries) and finally stands up to stretch his aching muscles. Maybe he should have gone to bed the evening before, maybe he shouldn’t have stayed on the couch glaring at the muted news in his miserable state, but…  
His room is too secluded. It’s his place, his alone, without the loving memories he connects with their living room – all the evenings shared together on the too small couch, cuddled together and eating unhealthy ice cream, all the times things were too close to not being okay and tears were dried with loving words and dangerous promises.  
And now they have moved out to a place that feels too sterile and empty to really be home. Not that he is going to tell his dads any of it.

_“Peter, hey. Are you feeling a bit better?”_

He is ripped out of his thoughts by the familiar voice that involuntarily brings a smile onto his face, even though the trusted family member can’t see him right now (Peter has never been really fond of video calls).  
His feet slip into the slippers at the end of the couch, before he drags his waking body into the kitchen to get something to eat, because _Jesus Christ_ he is _starving_ , which is a complete one-eighty to how queasy his empty stomach felt just hours before.

“I do, thanks Happy. When will you be here?”

The inaudible sigh of relief is still easily detectable in his friend’s and mentor’s voice, as Peter roams through the filled fridge, one hand on the handle, the other on a package of cheese. True, he has been feeling like death warmed over after the end of the school trip to Oscorp, but at the end it was a simple cold that came and went just as quickly. No need to worry.  
Even though being able to glimpse behind the stoic mask of the chauffeur and bodyguard every once in a while is a treat he appreciates and that amuses him all the same.

_“Five. How is the fever?”_

“Gone. You coming up?”

 _“Sure, let me grab your bags, we don’t want you to overexert yourself,”_ Happy teases back with a tone in his voice that sounds only half as sarcastic as usual. Peter lets it go for once and is about to close the fridge door again to get ready…

He is stuck.  
On the fridge door.

“What the-“, Peter mumbles with a frown on his face and puts the bought sandwich aside on the counter to take a closer look at the spot between his palm and the door. Nothing sticky, no spilled juice, no super-glue due to one of the teams’ pranks, since he is still alone as one can be in a city filled with millions of uncaring people.

_“Peter?”_

His hand is genuinely stuck to the fridge door. Something akin to panic begins to bubble up in the back of his throat, because he still remembers the most memorable part of the school trip, no matter how much he tries to shove it further and further away from his consciousness. With a rushed “See you in five Happy, bye” he indicates Friday to cut the call.

“Come on, this is a joke, right?”  
The A.I. doesn’t dignify his rushed words with a response, while Peter begins to tuck at his hand. Nothing. His eyes flicker to the hallway and back to the fridge, before he stems his foot on the cupboard to the right to get some leverage and asks towards the ceiling: “Friday, why am I stuck to the stupid fridge?!”

“I can find no substance or other plausible cause, sir. Do you want me to contact-“  
The calm and emotionless voice is drowned out for a moment by the unexpected groan of metal under immense pressure and breaking plastic, then dead silence.  
The door is off its hinges, barely hanging on and revealing the broken fridge and its flickering light inside. Peter broke it. The fridge.

“Shit, ohmygod! They gonna kill me – Happy is gonna kill me, what am I gonna do?!”

For several seconds he lets himself getting drowned in raw panic that makes his hands tremble and quickens his breath, while his thoughts are stuck on the consequences. But when he realizes his hand is free, no traces of the suspected stickiness, when a little part in him begins to wonder and question, _really_ question what just went on, and involuntarily links the events to something that could only make sense in his kind of crazy life, the frantic words stop.

Something is wrong.  
Massively.

And he wouldn’t be his fathers’ son, if he wouldn’t put it together in the only logical way available.  
He broke the fridge with terrifying ease.  
He was stuck to the door with no explanation whatsoever.  
He was sick with flu-like symptoms out of nowhere in the middle of summer – and then perfectly fine mere hours later.

Oscorp?  
It has to have something to do with the spider bite, right? Because as stupid as it sounds, they weren’t holding them there for mere experiments behind layers upon layers of security, if they weren’t worth a lot more than a simple house spider.  
So what happened during the bite? A venom? It would explain his sickness, but not everything else afterwards. A serum? Something like pops’? Would they go that far? Do they even have the resources?

Another thought enters his mind, fleeting and nearly gone, before Peter perks up and goes with it despite knowing that it isn’t the best of ideas. Not at the moment. But if there is even the chance of radioactivity being involved, if there is a chance for his uncle to help him…

“Friday, call Bruce.”

It’s a long shot, but willing to take every seemingly plausible explanation to whatever the hell is going on, Peter takes it as serious as possible while scrambling to his feet to survey the damage.  
“Happy can’t see this, no frickin’ way!”

“Sir, the number of Dr. Banner is not available at the moment.”

“Try again,” he mumbles and then stems his shoulder against the unhinged door to at least partially close it. Seconds later he adds with a slightly raised voice, “And call the mechanic from downstairs – and order a new fridge. Like this one. No funny colors or something!”  
Friday’s confirmation is followed by a voice that unwinds his tense frame for a moment, until Peter realizes that it is his voicemail. But seeing as his uncle is god knows were doing god knows what, it’s probably the best he will get at the moment, so he frantically thinks of how to begin, while getting ready at the same time (because Happy can’t get into the kitchen and see the damage, otherwise Tony will know _asap_ ).

“Hey, it’s me, Peter. Uhm- how are you? How is your research coming along?”

Smooth.  
He silently curses and shortly thinks about hitting himself over the head, before he throws another homework into his bag. It’s not surprising though, right? Bruce has been gone for months, nearly a year now, with no call whatsoever. No message, no checking up on them, no getting Tony and Steve back on track again, because that is what he always does best.  
What really gets to Peter though are not the missed birthday cards or silent quirks every once in a while that have everyone bending over laughing, but the time he nowadays spends alone in the lab. Whenever things were too much for Bruce, whenever topics were too embarrassing for Peter to go to his dads…

He misses it. A lot.  
Nearly as much as he misses spending time with his dads and the rest of the team back in the Avengers tower, when it wasn’t overshadowed by crazy maniacs and crucial doubts he isn’t able to erase from his dad’s eyes.

“So, will- are you around anytime soon? You know, the new Avengers facility is really coming along,” he begins and feels the bitterness bubbling up in his throat, unable to keep it away, “It’s great. Actually it is so awesome, that everyone is living there now. I know right? Except for when they are gone for stupid missions, which is – oh, wait – all the damn time. And the labs, I can’t even- it is as if dad messed them up on purpose or something, but that doesn’t make any sense because he is hanging out there all of the time now. And I’m stuck here in the tower, you know I would really appreciate some company fro-“  
He is stuck in a full on rant (his uncle had it coming, really), when a chime from Friday alerts him of Happy’s presence on the level. His voice falls silent in an instant and the immediate mood change is clearly audible. Peter doesn’t have the time to care though.

“I really need to talk to you – privately! No dad, no pops, no anyone from the team involved. It’s- It’s about radioactive animals. I think I have-“  
His hushed voice breaks off when he hears Happy not too far away calling for him. With a weary “Just call me back. _Please_.” He signals Friday to drop the call and rushes out of his room, only to nearly collide with a frowning Happy.

“What is going on?”

The typical frown on his mentor’s face is deeper than usual, not as dark as it was the evening before, when worry had accompanied his every step, but not as easy-going as Peter has learned to live with at the tender age of nine.  
“Nothing,” he blurts out in a too high voice that obviously gives him away and would leave aunt Nat cringing, so he quickly adds as Happy silently lifts one eyebrow, “I forgot to clean my room. Again. But I really want to get to dad and pops, so can we just-“

Something flickers in Happy’s eyes, too shortly for Peter to identify, but it leaves him with a bitter taste in his mouth, when the older man gives in way too quickly (of course he knows Peter is lying, how can he not?).  
“Let’s go, give me your bag.”

He doesn’t even comment the broken fridge door, as they bypass the kitchen on their way to the elevator.  
For the first time since his little escapade Peter thinks back on the news and how much of it might actually be true.

 

* * *

 

What really puts his mind back to his dads’ fight is their silence.

His message from the evening before is still left unanswered, even though they probably should have thrown a fit by now. Happy has been adamant to tell them honestly about Peter’s condition and usually there would have been at least one or two worried calls and several excessive texts (they’ve done it before during missions).  
This time however he is faced with utter silence, which feels so strange and alien to him, that he considers asking Happy. Multiple times his eyes flicker to his driver, while they finally leave New York City behind to enter its much quieter outskirts on their way to the facility, but something with him is obviously off.  
His whole body seems rigid with the unknown tension that lies heavy between them, his eyes are solely fixed on the road ahead and not once does he glance at Peter in the rearview mirror, the music is turned a bit too loud to have a proper conversation and they don’t even listen to Happy’s favorite radio station but some random CD.

So he stays quiet, despite all the unanswered questions and fears slowly bubbling up in his stomach and instead does something that Uncle Bruce might have approved in this kind of situation.  
A battle plan.

What does he know for sure?  
His fathers’ are fighting. There is some political paperwork involved that has mostly to do with their past operations. Someone tries to throw Bucky under the bus, which in itself is utterly ridiculous, because his stoic, silent and most of all mischievous uncle would be the last person to blow up a building full of people when Steve doesn’t want him to. Sure, there is the whole Hydra business involved Peter feels he does know only half about, but ever since they brought the distraught and mistrustful man into their midst, things have started to look up. In all ways.

Other than that?  
There are countless rumors, more than Peter has listened to in the past week and less than what could help him make sense of it all. Maybe he should have actually paid attention to the gleeful newscaster or his classmates’ whispered words. Maybe he should have addressed the topic way sooner and not turned a blind eye towards it all, hoping they would solve it themselves as they usually do.  
Now though they seem to need a little bit more, all politics aside for the moment. Who better for the job than their own son? Because at the end of the day they are still family, right?

So yes, he is going to go straight to his bickering parents, knock them over their heads and then carefully inform them of his little problem, whatever it might consist of really. At least he didn’t rip the door out of its hinges upon entering the car, nor did he stick to anything else since the fridge incident. If it weren’t for the vivid images in his mind, he might think about having imagined it all due to some fever rush.

“Here we are,” the unexpected voice from the front seat pulls him out of his thoughts and with surprise Peter looks out of the window over the large compound. They have already arrived?  
“Peter, before you go I-“  
It is obvious what he wants to talk about, so Peter doesn’t give him the chance to do so, when he only just pushed his doubts and fears aside to motivate himself for what lies ahead of him. Quickly he unbuckles the seatbelt and jumps out of the car with a cheerful “Don’t worry, Happy, this’ll be fixed sooner than the stupid fridge.”

“Hey, about that-“

“Bye!”  
The fading shouts behind of him put a fine grin onto his face, while he waves at the guard of the back entrance of the facility and enters the familiar and blank hallways. It doesn’t lead directly to the private area of the Avengers, instead Peter finds himself standing in between countless laboratories. The research department.  
Slowly the fear rushing through his veins fades away upon seeing the usual busyness of the place and with a deeper breath he tries to relax his clenched muscles and strides forward. People recognize and greet him almost instantly, waves are thrown his way and he already expects the cheerful quirks and new projects they love to show him, whenever he shows up and which make him appreciate the place a little bit more…

They never come though.  
Instead Peter notices with each step he takes that something is really, really off.

Some put a thin smile onto their faces, others don’t even try.  
Some stay to talk for a bit, others fleetingly greet him and then rush off.  
And all they have in common in the foul mood that lingers in their eyes and haunts Peter as if he is the reason for their unspoken misery.

So instead of geeking out in peace with people he got to know years ago, he quickens his steps further and further, until he bursts into his parents’ room at a mad sprint without even wasting a thought about knocking first.  
“Dad? Pops?”

The silence that welcomes him back in their private quarters is ear deafening. No one.  
He doesn’t stop to check the adjacent rooms and instead turns around leaving the door open to run down the hall towards the gym.  
If they have fought, no matter how bad the outcome, pops would be training to let off some steam. He always does to prevent himself from screaming at people and letting his frustration go in a way that could hurt people emotionally and physically.  
The gym is empty as well. The weight in his stomach intensifies and nearly renders him immobile, but in his panic he clings to another fleeting thought. Dad’s private lab! They are probably already making up, because that is where dad has to be, where he always flees to from problems he doesn’t want to face and where eventually his husband shows up to set things right in the world again, so Peter rushes in a mad dash through the silent hallways –  
No one either.

“Deep breaths, you’re just being silly,” Peter mumbles to himself and stems his hands into his hips. Okay. Right. No need to panic. They are usually there for him at the weekends, unless – Right, unless there is a mission. But then again they would have let him know first, they would have made sure he is alright, not sick with the flu (or some supernatural spider bite), they would have at least called despite their disagreement and whatever went down between them in the past days…  
Happy! That’s what he wanted to tell him in the car.

A short and shrill laugh escapes his throat, but it does nothing to erase the lingering feeling in his stomach, nor does it ease the tension in his shoulders.  
He should contact them. Make sure they are alright and not bleeding to death somewhere far off from any help.  
He should find the other Avengers, because someone _has_ to be around here.  
He should call at least Happy, since he knows _something_ obviously.

Instead he lets the fear finally take over and tears the place apart on his search for them.  
They can’t have abandoned him without a word, they can’t have just-  
The rooms are empty; each door he tears open, each time he glances inside with whatever is left inside of him to hope. Nothing. No one.

With shaking fingers he leaves the living area behind of him and stumbles towards what is left in the facility for him to comb through. Maybe something happened, maybe they are in one of the medical rooms, maybe even in the hospital by now-

“Over my dead body.”

Peter stops dead in his tracks and leans against the wall to his left, when his knees buckle under his weight and the immense relief coursing through his body. A stupid smile spreads on his lips and a laugh is on the tip of his tongue, as he takes a deep and refreshing breath. Stupid. So, so stupid. Of course they are here, of course they are okay.

“Tony, he deserves-“

Rolling his shoulders to get rid of the setting ache Peter pushes himself off of the wall and strolls towards the closest door on the left. It is left ajar, so he quietly opens it further, until he is able to see Rhodey in one of the seats and his dad in front of him with his back towards Peter. They haven’t noticed him yet.

“He doesn’t deserve shit!”  
The aggravated tone in his dad’s voice dims his relief a little bit and the cheerful words die on his lips, when he listens to their argument a little bit more closely. Only now does he take notice of the turned on TV and the news that are displayed in the background of the exam room.

_“-finally escalated in a rogue clash between both parties of the Avengers in Germany. According to authorities the damage dealt to the Leipzig airport amounts into the millions and an official statement of the German chancellor-“_

“After what he did to me, to _us_ as a family, Steve doesn’t deserve shit! Especially not talking to him. Over my dead body.”

“You do realize you are as much to blame, right?”

_“Renowned sources indicated that the political dispute around the Sokovia Accords have had a grave impact on the team itself, especially Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, who led the opposing parties of the Avengers-“_

“For all I care that piece of-“

“Tony-“

“-shit can rot in hell!”

“Stop!”

“What?!”

He doesn’t notice Rhodey nodding into his direction.  
He doesn’t notice his dad’s wide eyes.  
He doesn’t notice the sudden silence.

Instead his eyes are glued to the pictures on the TV screen.  
The words of the emotionless newscaster echo around in his mind, again and again and again-  
He doesn’t notice his father calling his name and stepping closer.

All he takes in is the world breaking apart below his feet.

 

_“Do you promise?”  
A smile, genuine and full of love._

_“We promise.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself a ton of notes for the story, began to plan the first chapters thoroughly, so I had enough time to pre-write some chapters...  
> and still ended up crushing out this one dead-tired, since the last week ended me work-wise. x_x  
> Things surrounding this SuperfamilyAU will be explained during the story, if you have specific questions though let me know and I'll make sure to include them.


	2. when the war is in your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Music tip:**  
>  **Michael Logen – Darkness Within**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oD8zu-Efpg

 

**chapter 2:  
** _when the war is in your heart_

 

* * *

 

 

_“As it stands, Captain Rogers and the Avengers who refused to sign the Sokovia Accords are officially labeled as fugitives, with whom any form of contact will be seen as a criminal act and-“_

The voice of the newscaster breaks off and with a trembling breath Peter eagerly sucks in cold air. Still her voice keeps ringing inside of his head, disrupting any thought that tries to form.  
This is wrong, it can’t be-  
They wouldn’t actually go there, not that far, they wouldn’t _destroy_ everything he holds dear, would they-

“Peter, kid?”  
The tone in his father’s voice breaks the moment of suspension. When his vision begins to blur and his legs start to give way, someone grabs him under his armpits, a voice mumbles something into his ear in a deep, rough voice, but he can’t focus, not on this, he doesn’t want to-  
It’s all gone, everything, they took it all with whatever bullshit they initiated, his throat starts to close up, pops is gone, really gone with no hope of ever seeing him again and fuck he can’t _breathe_ -

“Peter, look at me!”  
Two hands forcefully grab his face and a second later he comes face to face with his dad. His brows are furrowed and the worried lines on his face fit to the dark circles under his eyes, but every ounce of him seems to be focused solely on Peter at the moment.  
“Come on, buddy, deep breaths. It’s gonna be okay, I promise, alright? Just- calm down…”

Far in the back of his mind his father has the intended effect on him with that calm voice he always uses, when he knows how terrified Peter is, but all he is able to focus on is the smell of whiskey and the rough underlying tone in his dad’s voice that puts him on edge.  
“Breathe with me, okay? Just like that…”

And slowly things begin to come back to him.

Rhodey is still sitting at the table and watches him with troubled eyes, while Tony kneels in front of Peter and the couch he currently sits on. For a moment he wonders, then he pushes the irrelevant thought aside and pays more attention to the bruise on the side of his father’s face, the sharp smell and the way he looks at Peter – until some of the mumbling reaches his ears and makes him snap out of the captivating mindset he buried himself in for the past minutes.

“I can’t lose you, too-“

“What the fuck?”  
His voice is barely above a whisper, nonetheless his father falls silent almost immediately and the tension in the room thickens noticeably. Tony’s hands are still resting on either side of his face, but Peter’s eyes are firmly fixed on the ground, while his hands lying in his lap are balled to fists. The adrenaline in his veins turns to anger and confusion that puts a strange trembling in his voice he isn’t able to get rid of.

“This is a sick joke, right?”  
None of the two dares to answer.  
With a raised voice and directly aimed at his father, he continues.

“What did you do?!”  
He means both of his fathers, but only one is able to face his anger, and the simple reminder of what he has lost, of what is no more in their future, makes him give in to the fear bubbling right under his skin. He tries to hold the tears appearing in his eyes back, but with every word they become more and more audible in his shaking voice, which grows quieter and quieter.

“Where are they? When did they- I… I wanna see them, where are they?! Where is my dad?”  
When his voice finally breaks, Peter is pulled into Tony’s chest. He desperately tries to get away, because with the loving and familiar embrace all emotions seem to crash in on him all at once, but the more he struggles, the more Tony pulls him into his arms.  
When his quiet protests and unanswered questions finally give way to heart-breaking sobs, Peter breaks down in his father’s arms, who says absolutely nothing, not a single comforting word to lighten his nightmares.  
And in itself his silence feels like a knife to the gut. 

 

* * *

 

_“The person you have called is temporarily not available. Please leave a -“_

In the darkness of his room Peter ends the call, then dials the same number again.  
For the first time in forever the absence of the usual background noise of New York is not pressing down onto his chest, instead the absolute silence wraps like a blanket around his trembling shoulders and keeps him afloat in a sea of misery.

_“The person you have called is temporarily not available-“_

Again. End the call. Try again.  
All dad said to him was to get some rest. It made Peter want to scream and shout, but not a single word left his lips, when Tony escaped as soon as the bitter sobs stopped. Not a single question answered, not a single explanation or excuse why Peter’s world is shattered into irreparable pieces.

_“The person you have called is-“_

Again. One more time. Maybe-  
The TV remote lies on the pillow beside his head, mocking him for being too afraid to turn on the news and find out everything they have to say (because apparently they tell more truths than his own fucking father).  
The silence continues and the remote stays untouched. He can’t.

_“The person you have called-“_

End it. Call him. He has to take it.  
In the back of his mind he knows pops won’t take it, that he won’t be reachable via his number anymore, but he can’t stop, if Peter stops there is no way for him to fix this mess of a life. And if he can’t fix it, if there is no way-

_“The person you-“_

Maybe he should let it go through. Once. Maybe he will get the message, maybe he will call back, maybe-  
He won’t get it, won’t listen to it, and even _if_ … he left them behind, didn’t he? He-  
Before he has a chance to make up his troubled mind, his fingers follow the usual routine.

_“The person you have called is temporarily not available. Please leave a message or try again later.”_

A short beep. Ear-deafening silence follows. His heartbeat speeds up.  
“Pops-“

And with a single word the ugly wound inside of his chest comes undone once more and forces bitter sobs out of his sore throat, while messy tears stream down his face onto the pale pillow.  
When has it all begun to go so horribly, horribly wrong?  
Should Peter have returned home sooner? Should he have paid more attention to the rumors? Because no matter how crazy, a germ of truth is always hidden beneath the mockery of shallow people, who rip lives apart in live shows for money and power.  
Now it is all gone, lost. No more laughter in the morning from the kitchen, when his parents were oblivious to his presence; no more quiet nights on the couch, when they were too comfortable to leave the arms of their loved ones; no more kisses onto his scalp he squirmed under but secretly craved for.

So instead of leaving his father a heart-felt message and yelling at him for their ignorant stupidity, Peter continues to break down, helpless and alone, until he ends the call with trembling fingers and throws the phone to the other side of the room, where it shatters into a million pieces.

 

* * *

 

The reflection in the mirror is a sight to behold, but the usual banter is stuck in his throat.

His hopeless attempt to fresh up a little bit still leaves his skin pale, eyes red and hair standing into every which way, and with a final glance at the time he makes his way into the kitchen of the shared living area. It is as abandoned as the day before, this time though Peter is glad about it. If pops would see him like thi-  
Right.

A little note is stuck to the fridge and eager for the distraction of his troublesome thoughts, Peter steps closer to take a look. It’s from Rhodey. Nothing unusual, he has to go into town for an appointment, but that he felt the necessity to let him know makes him feel raw and unreasonably angry at him (another part is glad, so glad; not another person that abandoned him yet again).  
He is fine. He doesn’t need their protection (no one left to do so anyway) and not their concern. It’s all messed up and an absolute disaster – but he’ll deal with it. Somehow. Without them.

Not yet though.

With an inaudible sigh he puts the note onto the table to his side and grabs a cup to get himself some of the coffee that must have been brewed up by Rhodey (no sign of his dad), when a thought not as dark and gloomy as the others stops his movements.  
A simple idea, something he never actively thought about in the past, but one that brings some flicker of hope back that he grabs tightly with both hands. Quickly Peter gets another cup, a larger one, and fills it with the hot, dark liquid, before he prepares it the way his dad loves and pops always disapproves of. Then he rushes off towards the labs, absolutely sure of his whereabouts this time, and forgets his own cup on the counter beside the note.

He needs this, maybe more than dad does.  
Just a little bit of comfort and normality, a sign that they are still who they are, a family, no matter how broken apart they appear to be. Yesterday was just a hiccup, his dad was overwhelmed, clearly he has planned to let Peter know differently, not like this.  
It’ll be fine.

The thought echoes around in his mind, when he comes to a stop in front of the open lab. Multiple desks are set up in various sizes and holding unrecognizable items at this point in time – without a doubt they’ll be featured either in the Stark product line or in one of the various suits and weapons soon. Screens hinder his line of sight, when Peter tries to get a good look throughout the room; it’s not the same as the one in the tower, he thinks stubbornly, until the cup grows too warm for comfort under his fingers and he remembers why exactly he is here.  
For several seconds he keeps quiet though. Watching his father work, lost to the world and in one barely anyone can truly follow… Tony Stark is a marvel and mystery all the same. It’s not the first time Peter watches him silently, it’s not the first time Peter is eager to join him in his projects and throw in some suggestions from time to time…

It’s the first time though his father rushes past him three times without noticing him.  
Something cold settles in his stomach, desperately Peter tries to hold onto the light mood from just a few moments before-  
But it’s different and even in his messed up state of mind he can’t deny it. This… It’s not the rush of excitement and engineering that has always grabbed a hold of his father in the most unusual of times; it’s a numb stupor, one Peter isn’t familiar with at all. He has heard the stories on stormy evenings without his parents around; a time in which everything was new and bitter and not as tightly knotted as now. When aims were different, when minds were lost, when people were alone.

The smell of the coffee turns bitter.

He doesn’t want to think about it. His dad won’t return to… whatever it was before, this sick and obsessed state of mind no one had been really fond of in their retellings (warnings?).  
Will this be the new thing now between them? Instead of greeting his son the second he comes close to the labs, even if his target has been another, and pulling him in to tinker and quirk and test until Steve comes to get and chide them without really meaning it… this? A future with his broken father, who locks himself away for hours with no end and forgets there was a family to fight for once before stupid arguments and thick-headed minds.

The thought scares him so much that he takes a hasty step forward and clears his throat, if only to get rid of the oppressing silence that hangs over their heads like a scythe. No music is being played, he notices belatedly, but before he can give it more thought, his father freezes in front of the computer display projected into the air and turns to him with a scowl on his face.

He looks even worse than yesterday.  
“I think I told you to rest?”

Even though Peter is able to smell the alcohol all the way to the door, his father slurs not one bit, which honestly scares him even more than the traumatic stupor he put himself into probably since he left Peter and Rhodey in the exam room.

“I- I did. It’s morning already.”  
And that he didn’t realize it up until now (he always did, he always knew when to put Peter to bed and tell him goodnight) is another punch to the gut he isn’t sure he can take as well right now.  
What makes it all worse though is that his dad doesn’t even look surprised. Instead he turns around to one of his projects again, scowl still in place, and mumbles with that rough voice of his Peter gets nauseous of, “You should get ready for school then. Happy will drive you.”

“Dad- It’s Sunday.”  
His voice is barely audible. The pit in his stomach deepens as he leans against the doorframe.  
And even though he clearly heard him, even though Tony knows how wrong this is between them, he still refuses to look Peter in the eyes and seems to genuinely be at a loss of what to do with him.

He hates himself for the audible tears in his voice, he hates himself for showing him how much this hurts, but it is what finally gets through to his father.  
“I… I made you coffee.”

For the first time this morning his dad looks at Peter. Really _looks_ at him.  
The scowl disappears, the tight grip around the tool in his hand loosens and then he seems to deflate, before he comes over with long steps to pull Peter into his arms. The soft kiss onto his scalp blows the upcoming fears away without effort and for the first time since Peter entered the Avengers facility yesterday, breathing in and out seems less heavy.

“Thank you, kiddo.”  
The endearing nickname, so old and familiar, makes his tense muscles unwind in a heartbeat and with his free hand Peter grabs the dirty shirt tightly, while he buries his head in the crook of his dad’s neck. It’s hard to not let the tears fall – out of relief this time.  
He is still there. It’s tough, more so than ever, but he is still his father below the rough attitude and that’s everything Peter needs to keep on hoping.  
When they separate again, Tony carefully grabs the lukewarm cup of coffee into his hand – the other ruffles his hair in a familiar gesture, but Peter doesn’t mind – and takes a sip. They smile at each other, for once words are not needed, then his dad looks as if he wants to ask Peter to come work with him for a bit like they always do…

The look disappears behind a cloudy mist in Tony’s eyes, his face closes off to an unreadable mask with a tight smile on his lips that resembles more a grimace than anything else. His hand pats Peter’s head awkwardly, before he turns around to return to his project.  
Another stab to add to his funny little collection, he thinks bitterly, and Tony’s reaction is probably the reason why he isn’t able to hold the question lingering on the tip of his tongue back anymore.

“When will they be back?”  
A part of him wants to hit himself. His father is clearly in no state of mind to handle this sort of question or rebellious behavior, he should be touched with gloves right now until he comes back on his own-  
The other, stronger part of him approves and stares at his father’s back with a cold stare. This is his dad, for God’s sake. He shouldn’t be like this, not towards him, never fucking ever. And maybe he is able to get him back this way, maybe even both of them, if he only can make him understand…

A shiver runs down his spine.  
The temperature seems to fall below the freezing point and together with it his hopeful thoughts.

“It’s just you and I, buddy.”  
His father’s carefree voice doesn’t want to fit to the clenched fists on the desk and to the tenseness in his stance. Nonetheless Peter keeps going. If he’ll just _realize_ …

“It doesn’t have to be, if you two would just get over your big egos!”  
And then Peter kicks off something he didn’t see coming.

“You have _no_ idea what this is about, so stay out of it.”  
With a whirl his father finally faces him again, but the way he raises his finger, the way he looks at him with a fiery gleam in his eyes that holds nothing friendly in it, makes Peter want to back up a step or two.

“Of course I know what this is about, did you already forget? No thanks to you, you were too busy bitching about our family, instead of taking care of your own son!”  
There it is, all the build-up anger, all the misplaced confusion he finally lets go, while the hard stare of his father grows colder and colder.

And then something in the atmosphere shifts.  
The look in his father’s eyes changes, with one move he seems to grow in front of him to an intimidating figure he doesn’t recognize. The genuine anger in his voice and the fury in his eyes scare Peter to death. But before Tony realizes, before Peter can take a literal step back to defuse the situation-

“It’s none of your fucking business, so stop bothering me!”  
Peter flinches. Evades his father’s eyes, who doesn’t budge an inch and keeps his balled fists in front of him.  
“Of course it is,” Peter whispers in a quieter voice than he would have liked to, but the fear and hurt in his veins render him useless. “You’re my parents.” It sounds like an accusation more than anything else.

“Peter-“  
He doesn’t give him the time to make it right. He doesn’t deserve it.

“I can’t stand you.”  
Then he turns around to flee back to wherever Tony doesn’t follow, but not even two steps out on the hallway the shattering of the cup disrupts the silence. He flinches again, this time out of sight, and angry tears fill his eyes as a memory flashes through his mind, fond and so out of place with the emotions swirling around inside of his pumping veins.

He can’t do this.  
If it’ll be like this every hour of every day from now on…  
He won’t.

With quick steps he rushes off to his room, oblivious of his father’s call and on a whim that quickly takes over his mind.

He won’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY-GOD!  
> You guys are absolutely amazing and I seriously can't thank you enough for the overwhelming support you showed this lil piece of work. =) You keep the motivation high - even though there is more than enough atm. I saw the new Spiderman movie finally on Friday last week, since it only came out on the 13th here in Germany. Finally found a friend who likes English as much as I do, so we went to see the original version together. It's amazing. I can't even- It was wonderful. Saw it again in German on Sunday, tomorrow again for my lil sis' birthday! ^-^  
> I'm sure I wanted to mention some chapter-related stuff, but I'm dead tired and have to get up again soon, so have and enjoy it! Sorry for the day delay, busy time behind and ahead, but I'll give my best to keep them coming in time. Let me know what you think and maybe head over to my Twitter account @milumaus, if you want to know stuff about the story and the chapters in advance.
> 
> Love,  
> Milu


	3. falling too fast to prepare for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Music tip:**  
>  **Imagine Dragons – Whatever It Takes**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rGlEZpOVjGo

 

**chapter 3:  
** _falling too fast to prepare for this_

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first things he throws into the large backpack are some spare clothes.  
For once he doesn’t waste a thought about packing it all carefully – there is no pops to chide him and dad couldn’t care less at the moment.

When he is sure that they’ll be enough for his little trip, Peter throws a quick glance around his room – most of his things are back in the tower anyway – and stops at the two pictures standing on his desk. The anger melts away a bit to make way for some remorse, then he gets up to pack them as well.  
A little something to remind him of why he does all this and leaves everything he has ever known behind.

With a weary sigh he looks through his nightstand for anything else to pack.  
He feels worn out from the fight with his dad and all he really wants to do is lie down and sleep, but if he does he’ll never get his family back together. Dad will hold him back, someone will get wind of his plans, his resolve will be blown away by doubts like it always does and for once he can’t have that.  
So besides a small pillow he always takes for longer journeys and a notebook, he grabs some spare money together with some pens with the familiar Stark Industries company logo to keep himself busy. A map would be good as well, Peter muses and starts roaming through old issues and books, since he won’t be able to take his phone with him. Tony would track it in a minute and the least Peter needs is for his father to follow him, before he is able to find pops wherever-

He freezes.  
“Oh god, how stupid can I be?!”

With an audible slap against his forehead he stops roaming through his desk and looks towards the blank ceiling. He has no clue where they currently are. Some newscaster said something about Steve liberating the rogue part of the Avengers from some far-off prison-island, somewhere in the Atlantic, but the exact whereabouts… Nothing.

An idea enters his mind, short-lived when he thinks about it for a second, because if someone online would even have a hint of their true whereabouts, Peter would be able to visit his dad in a high-security prison right about now.  
So how is he going to find them?

…Maybe Rhodey is already back?  
He’ll probably notice something is up the second Peter asks about their whereabouts, but then again he seemed to mentally be far away yesterday and absolutely determined not to say a word to him. And since Tony is being Tony, it would only make sense for Peter to look for some answers elsewhere, wouldn’t it? With everyone gone, the only logical way is to go to Rhodey for some unbiased answers...  
Maybe he’ll be able to pull this off. Discretely.

The bag over his shoulder will be a dead giveaway though, Peter muses, so he bends down to shove it messily under his bed for the moment. As soon as he’ll know more, he can retrieve it safely. Since Jarvis is gone (where on earth is Vision by the way?) and Friday still occupies the Avengers Tower back in New York City, for when Peter is in town for school and mostly unsupervised, there is no A.I. out in the Avengers facility yet to give him away.

Even though he tries to be as nonchalant as possible and no one is in the living quarters of the Avengers anyway at the moment, Peter sneaks quick glances over his shoulder and around corners to avoid anyone he doesn’t want to meet (basically everyone except for Rhodey; Tony is on top of that list by far).  
The kitchen area and the large living room, equipped with several entertainment devices pops only rolls his eyes at in silent desperation, are completely deserted. No Rhodey. With a silent curse on his lips Peter strolls on, out of the living area and into the nearly equally as deserted hallways. It’s Sunday. Most of the staff are back home probably.

Should he try to find them in his dad’s lab?  
The equipment will undoubtedly find them one way or another  - the only thing Peter doesn’t have is the time though. It’ll take ages, there for sure will be cameras all over the place with the amount of expensive projects and prototypes, and any unauthorized access to the database will set off alarms in an instant.  
Also his father would have to leave the lab first – unlikely with his mood and the bottles of alcohol he has hidden there, Peter thinks bitterly and quickens his steps unconsciously.

And slowly he feels his resolve leaving him.  
With desperation he grabs at it, but the more he does, the more his doubts return.

They could be anywhere on the planet. Literally. Even if he finds out their whereabouts, how is he to get there? Charter a private jet from his dad? Sure, great idea, maybe he’ll ask him to come along while he is on it.  
Second – and this is a fear he shoved deep, deep down in his mind, but it needs addressing at some point – pops left. All accords and political threats aside, he left. Wouldn’t have the though of Peter influenced his decision _somehow?_ Did he even think about Peter, or was he unimportant in the face of bitter threats and stupid arguments the second his son drove back to New York City?

Maybe he’ll laugh in his face, when Peter asks him to come back home.  
Maybe he is relieved to finally have time for the values he holds dear without having to care for a troublesome teenager every weekend.  
…the thought isn’t so far-fetched, is it? Especially regarding a soldier whom a whole life has been stolen from by circumstances he could have evaded one way or another.

To get rid of the tight squeeze in his chest, Peter tries to focus on his other, more emotionally distanced problem.  
Third – he has no way of finding them, if he is being honest with himself.  
His dad’s lab is not an option; the internet would take too long and is too unreliable, as well as the news are.

“Dammit,” he mutters quietly and puts his hands in his unruly hair to blow off some of the frustration in his pumping veins. Here he is in one of the best equipped facilities in the world with computers and technologies Apple can only dream of, but no way to-

Oh.  
A weary sigh escapes his lips in slight exasperation.

For the son of a genius and nephew of a scientist with a brain capacity bigger than that of his entire school combined, he feels far too stupid recently.  
At the end of the corridor he currently wanders through is the entrance to the IT-department. One whose employees should be safe and sound back home. With a short look over his shoulder he begins to run in barely concealed excitement towards the open doors. They don’t have to be locked somewhere as safe as here, right?  
The doubts fade away and make way for sweet hope which he welcomes back with open arms, as his eyes roam over the expensive stations. He can do this, hours of looking over his dad’s shoulder and programming stuff his parents really shouldn’t know about with Ned give him the confidence to scramble to the closest desk.

He is about to touch the display in front of him with countless thoughts of how to approach his problem first, when voices from the other end of the large cubicle area make his heart stop. Frantically he slips under the desk into the darkest corner possible and puts his shaking hand over his mouth, but he is breathing way too loud. They must have seen him, their voices were too close for him to have a chance of escaping unseen, they’ll inform his dad in a few seconds and then it’ll be all over and he’ll never see pops again-

“So you have nothing yet?”  
Peter stills. They have to be right beside him.

“As a matter of fact we do – some ideas, nothing with real proof, but in the current situation…”

“Everything counts. I get it. Did you notify Stark yet?”

“Nope. And we don’t plan to in the near future.”

The conversation continues without interruption.  
With a frown on his face Peter listens on and slowly lowers his hand from his mouth.  
They must have noticed him for sure…

“Wait, is this some ‘I’m secretly siding with the other team’-stuff, because then I’m so out of this conversation-“

A rough laugh.  
Distinctly familiar.

“No, calm down. But think about it – we have no clue whether it’s for Stark’s… personal information or for the government and Ross to take them out once and for all. And in my low-minded opinion that’s a scenario none of them are able to afford at the moment.”

“You mean the whole-“

“Exactly.”

While their words register in his mind, Peter is still stuck on the first paralyzing thought.  
They should have noticed him, for how loud their voices are they have to be standing right beside the desk he is currently not ideally hidden under. One glance, one slip-up from Peter-

A weary sigh.  
“To be honest I think the guy is slowly losing it. With everything that went on it wouldn’t surprise me, if he’s finally going mad. Scientists and all that, ya know?”

“Nah, he still has the kid around. He’ll be fine in time,” a third voice argues and carefully Peter leans forward. Nothing. Where the heck are they?!

A sarcastic snort pulls him out of his observation and back to their talk, when the one with the familiar laugh lets his name drop in a way that pulls at his stomach uncomfortably.  
“Peter? The poor kid will not be ready to see _this_ side of his old man, trust me.”

“Maybe someone should get him away for some time. Back to New York, ya know? If I remember half the shit Stark pulled back then…,” first guy throws in again, while their voices grow even louder. How in the-  
Peter blinks. At the end of the corridor they appear, still outside of the cubicle area. Are they genuinely deaf or something to yell so loudly? Even if it’s a Sunday, even if they appear to be the only ones around…  
Something is off. Besides their talk of his father losing his marbles.

“Come on,” third guy laughs highly, “he’s not dangerous, he is his dad.”

The short moment of silence increases Peter’s nausea, as the other two obviously give their companion a silent, long stare. He is not. His dad would never-  
The shattering sound of the cup re-enters his mind and his thoughts fall silent for once.

“Maybe. But at the moment he isn’t the best role model for the kid either – he’s fifteen for God’s sake. Even Rogers would be better, all public enemy business aside…,” first guy replies with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, but the one with the laugh picks up on the idea.

“Maybe he is. And that brings me back to our research-“

“You’ll try to find and contact them?”  
First guy. More than doubtful, if his voice is anything to go by.

“I’ll think about it. At home. Where talking about this kind of stuff is a lot safer than here. See you tomorrow, guys.”

“Don’t get any stupid ideas, Nate. Seriously!” first guy yells after him (insanely loud), before the familiar-laugh-guy named Nate leaves through the entrance and the other two disappear behind another closing door.

_“You’ll try to find and contact them?”  
_ Not wasting a thought or a second Peter leaves his hiding spot to follow him.  
He might know where pops and the others are. This is better than- It’s his chance. The only one to seriously get something done.  
The prospect of maybe actually leaving this place to get his family back together – _to actually do it!_ – increases the nausea due to the excitement pumping through his veins. If he had eaten any breakfast, it would’ve long been gone via the upper way.

Nate turns around the corner and enters a secluded area of the facility.  
For a thoughtless moment Peter thinks about knocking the poor guy out the way aunt Nat taught him after a particularly eventful way home (when they all still lived in the tower and things were _good_ ), but the chances of heaving the guy through the place unseen and getting him to cooperate afterwards are more than slim.  
How does Uncle Bucky always say…? Inconspicuous is the key.

“Help!”  
His body reacts before his mind can stop him and with quite real panic in his eyes (what the heck is he doing?!) his feet lead him in a quick run towards the surprised Nate. So much for inconspicuous.  
“You- You need to help me! Please!”

Oh god, he is staring at him, there is the familiar frown on his face Steve always punishes him with, when he knows exactly that Peter is full of bullshit-  
“Peter? What happened? Is something wrong with your dad?”

And there he is, handing Peter the perfect way out, quite literally in this case.  
With renewed resolve that he desperately tries not to show, he barely nods and then grabs Nate’s hand to pull him with him in the opposite direction. They need to get out unseen – impossible with the amount of cameras in the facility – but some places...

“Wait, let me call security, kid – what even happened?!”  
The unexpected situation slowly gets to the older man, Peter notices by the shaking in Nate’s voice with some satisfaction, but then he tries to stop them and pull his arm out of Peter’s hand. If they waste any more time…

“Already did that, they are about to disable it, but my dad needs help **now**!”  
And thinking about his slumped frame, about the alcohol in his breath and the way he looks at Peter as if he were a nuisance…  
Maybe he does.

So while stopping in his sprint to get away Peter whirls around and lets some of the fear and insecurity of the past hours bleed into his eyes. It’s easier than expected.  
“Please, I need your help.”

The reluctance disappears and his tense shoulders seem to droop.  
“Alright, lead the way, kid.”  
And then they are running again, through abandoned corridors and the hallways Peter knows to be secluded at this time, until they reach the garage. To get out unseen might be impossible, but there are places less secure than others (because who in their right mind would try to steal the Avengers’ cars?), so he figures this one might buy them some time.  
At least enough to get away from the premise.

“Where is he?”  
Nate begins to grow skeptic again and while the panic bubbles up in his chest once more – close, _so_ close – he runs with him towards one of the side doors.  
“Just outside the garage,” he says with a breathless voice and then adds on a whim, “He was trying to show me some stupid invention, I told him it wouldn’t be safe to use, but-“

When he throws a glance over his shoulder, he knows he has struck a nerve.  
Nate remembers his conversation from before all to vividly. His eyes seem to darken and for once he pulls Peter with him and leads the way instead without further comment.  
The guilty feeling in his chest makes Peter reconsider for precious seconds, as they storm out of the door onto the large parking lot. Can he really leave his dad behind, just like pops did? Is it worth in the end, or will Peter involuntarily cut all still-existing ties between his parents with his actions?

“-fucking knew he’s done without him, just a matter of time-“  
Nate’s mumbling obviously isn’t meant for him, but it shoves the traitorous thoughts aside.  
His family is already torn apart. It can’t get worse than this, can it?

And hey, if not even Peter can keep his dad sane and away from the bottle, if even his employees doubt his sanity regarding the situation…  
Then maybe only pops can. Despite their fight, despite the obvious hate Tony has for his missing spouse.

But with every step they take, Nate grows slower and slower, until they stop.  
“What’s going on here?”  
The suspicion in his voice is unmistakable, even before he turns around to face Peter with a look not unlike Tony’s back in the lab. He knows he is busted. Before he can lie though to get them going again, Nate tries to break free from Peter’s hold on his arm.

Tries.  
Peter is stuck. Like he was on the fridge.

Instead of panicking like Peter does, Nate doesn’t notice though.  
“Let go kid, I’ll get you back inside and then you’ll tell me what this bullshit is about.”  
He still thinks Peter is holding onto him, not that some freak accident on a school trip might have superglued him onto his jacket.  
And all he can do to keep it a secret (because if people find out, if the press hears from this and _Oscorp_ especially…) is to not let it show on his face. Something not easily achievable, if his wide opened eyes and the paleness of his cheeks is anything to go by.

“Hey, are you alright-”

“If you don’t follow me, I’ll tell _Stark_ what his employees so casually chat about, instead of telling him what he obviously needs to know.”  
It sounds like one of those ‘I’ll-run-to-my-daddy’-cards that make him cringe, but for the moment it seems to work. Nate blanches a few shades and wearily agrees, before he lets Peter pull him onwards.  
Not silently though.

“At least tell me where we are going and what this actually is about.”  
And maybe it’s not the worst way to slowly ease him into his plan.

“We are going for your car,” he casually answers and refuses to elaborate on the second part, while he lets his eyes roam over the scattered cars on the mostly empty parking lot. With a resigned sigh Nate takes over again and steers them left to an old Jeep that looks more like a rust bucket than the fancy cars they just walked past in the garage.  
Not that Peter minds – it’s his best way to escape right now and he was taught to never look a gift horse in the mouth. Not even if it seems to fall apart every second.

“Then we’ll leave this place,” he tries to add nonchalantly, but apparently Nate has had enough.

“No, definitely not!”  
In front of the passenger door they stop and this time Nate is able to rip his arm out of Peter’s grasp. He tries to not be too obvious in his relief and quickly takes a step back, before his hands can cause any more trouble than he can deal with at the moment.  
When he trusts himself enough to not look panicky at the prospect of basically kidnapping someone and to be calm enough to get his point across, he glances up into the surprisingly composed and slightly worried face of the otherwise unknown man in front of him.

“I can’t deal with it.”  
Nate stays silent and in the way his eyes focus in on him he seems to know exactly what Peter is talking about.  
“We- … if he’ll be like _this_ every day, I can’t deal with it. I won’t. From what the others have told me – which is not much by the way – it’s only about to get worse and apparently you and your friends think so, too. So… I’m gonna change that. Unless you’re happy to go back to those days,” he adds with a sarcastic, underlying tone in his voice and then waits for his companion’s reply. He stays silent and Peter isn’t sure whether that is a good or bad sign.

“We need to get pop- he needs Steve back. Even if he wants to rip his head off right about now. And if I’m honest I need him, too.”  
After another few seconds of silence he adds at last with a determination he surely got from Steve somewhere along the line, “I’ll do it with or without you.”

“Not if I’ll tell your dad to ground your sorry ass into the next century,” Nate finally answers, but with a lot less bite Peter has expected. Nonetheless he needs to defend his line of sight, if he really wants to get pops back. Because without Nate, without someone who knows where they are and who is actually capable to drive, his wild-goose chase is practically over.

“Not happening if you’re already fired due to you bitching about him with your little friends and siding with Captain America.”

“Everyone is bitching about him,” the older man weakly defends and crosses his arms over his chest, but below he seems to silently agree with Peter’s point of view.

“Try saying that to his face.”  
Nate heaves a deep sigh, looks towards the sky for some unknown guidance, before he returns Peter’s stare and opens his mouth for a final reply.

“Hey Nate, you still here? I’ve got a question, do you have a second?”  
Both whirl around in time to see another man close to his pension exit the building from the other side of where they stand behind the car and waving at him. Apparently he hasn’t seen Peter. Yet. Before he has a chance to panic again and hide somewhere, Nate grabs his arm and shoves him into his unlocked car.  
“What-“

“For the record, you threatened and kidnapped me.”

“I’m fifteen,” Peter replies but can’t keep the big grin off of his face, while Nate jumps into the driver’s seat beside of him and starts the stuttering car.  
“And obviously as mischievous as your father.”

“Sounds like you are talking about Loki,” he mumbles with a shudder and the loud laugh he is rewarded with breaks the awkward tension in the air. For the moment.

And then, after they drove past the oblivious guard with Peter hiding at the bottom of the dashboard, he belatedly realizes that he left his bag in his room.  
…and never managed to tell his family about his little occurrence at Oscorp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope I can keep the frequenzy up from August onwards - I'll begin another apprenticeship at that time and'll be out the house basically Monday - Friday all day. So only the weekends to write. We'll see how it goes - hopefully I'll settle in there easily and get enough motivation from you lovely people.  
> Because I low-key am already planning two sequels for this story... My mind ran away again. Woops. xD
> 
> Have a lovely evening, if you wanna chat with me about this story or other stuff, hit me up on my Twitter account @Milumaus! <3


	4. I had a dream when I was only five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Music tip:**  
>  **Nina Nesbitt – The Moments I’m Missing**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGmJZWsiVog

 

 **chapter 4:  
** _I had a dream when I was only five_

 

* * *

 

 

 

_“What you got there, buddy?”  
Bright round eyes stare up at him, clutching the cup tightly in both hands. Then the little arms lift it up for him to see all the colorful lines upon it. If he squints, he can make out a kid-version of Steve, himself and Peter._

_“It’s for you, daddy.”_  
_He is shy and trying to hide behind his little work of wonder and oh so adorable that his heart does a little jump in his chest._  
_“Thank you, Pete,” he replies with a weak voice and then lifts the little boy up into his strong arms, where he laughs happily. “Is it okay?”_

 

“Perfect.”  
The sarcastic tone doesn’t want to fit to the memory playing inside of his head and pulls him back into the harsh reality rather painfully. For several seconds he stares at the unfamiliar buildings in front of him, before it all comes back and he turns to Nate with a frown on his face.

“Why are we here?”

“An hour ago you were eager to get as far away from your dad as possible – already changed your mind?” Nate asks absentmindedly, while he seems to look for a free parking lot. Contrary to before he appears to be half serious though and belatedly Peter realizes that he probably would like nothing more than to drive him back as fast as possible.  
“No- no of course not, but… weren’t we supposed to go straight for the next airport? Po- Steve is nowhere in the country at the moment, right?”

It’s a weak attempt to get some information out of the older man beside him, but he stayed resilient for the whole car ride and of course doesn’t start to waver now. He probably assumes that Peter will run off the moment he knows where his father is supposed to be - and if Peter is being completely honest to himself, he might not be far off with that theory.  
With a shake of his head Nate refuses to answer straight away and chooses a free parking spot in front of a run-down diner. When the engine dies down and Peter is still staring at him in irritating stubbornness (he perfected it somewhere between overprotective parents and being invisible to the outside world), Nate finally returns his look with one he is unable to decipher.

“By the time we reach one of the major airports in New York City, Stark will be all over the place with his AI. We have not the slightest chance to get away unseen if there is even one security camera he can hack into.”

“He won’t notice shit,” Peter mumbles bitterly and crosses his arms in front of his chest. Nate’s eyes seem to bore into the back of his head.  
Peter shouldn’t be ungrateful – after all Nate actually got him out of there – but he can’t help the frustration slowly building up. By the time they’ll leave the country for real (if Nate is actually willing to go through with that and not just wasting time to contact his dad), Tony will find them one way or another. They should go as long as they still can, while his father broods away in his lab.

“I doubt that. He has always been very adamant about your whereabouts and he will be especially now.”

“We fought.”  
In the following silence he hears Nate shifting his weight to stare at him fully. For several seconds Peter watches a young girl exit the diner with her mother, before he finally caves in. Maybe it’ll help him convince Nate that they _really_ need to get to an airport. Asap.  
“He has been… different. Of course he has been after all that has happened, which I still only know half about I think, but… I tried to talk to him, I went to his lab, patient and all of that, but-“ the shattering of the cup still echoes in his mind and he has to hold himself back from flinching at the emotional pain hitting him head on, while he continues.

“He’s been drinking.”  
Nate stiffens beside of him.  
“I think he has been ever since they got back to the compound. So… we argued, things escalated and… now we’re here.”  
It’s messy and _so_ not a proper explanation, but he can’t bring himself to tell an employee of all people about the dirty details. Even if Nate seems to be the only chance he has at the moment to get his dad back. Both of them, actually.

“He didn’t hit you, did he?”  
All at once Nate’s tone takes a total turn and the bland coldness in his voice leaves Peter shivering.  
“No, of course not!” he exclaims with all the surprise Nate’s question leaves him with, while he finally turns around to glance at his older companion. “He never would.”

The fact that Nate takes his time to study Peter and then looks away with a deep sigh is like a punch in the gut. He knows his dad better than anyone else besides pops. He never would. Not in a million years.  
If he is sure of anything right now, it’s that.

“Do you know how he has been before?”  
It’s obvious what Nate hints at.

“Bits and pieces. What the others told me about.”  
He is not going to put it all out there, no matter how much Nate might be able to help him at the moment. He isn’t family. He doesn’t know shit, when it comes down to it.  
“Before the whole Iron Man thing… it was bad. And I honestly think there was no one able to help him, even if Rogers had been freed from the ice earlier, even if they had gotten along from the beginning on. He was… a lot more messed up.”

And there it is again.  
A memory pops up, from Nate’s chat with his colleagues, and suddenly the anger that began to bubble up at the man sticking his nose in other people’s business (even though it is his too ever since Peter decided to kidnap him) evaporates into more doubts upon doubts.

“Did you mean it?”  
His voice sounds too small, too lost to be a casual question thrown into the conversation.  
In the reflection of the windshield he can see Nate’s puzzled glance, when the sun dips behind thick clouds and renders them blind in the sudden darkness.  
“Will he go back to that?”

 _“Peter? The poor kid will not be ready to see **this** side of his old man, trust me.”  
_ He wants to scream _‘no’_ at him from the top of his lungs.  
They are supposed to be a family, together through thick and thin, but then this is exactly it, one little word that reflects how screwed they really are; _supposed_ to be, like a tease from his subconsciousness that wants him to realize how hopeless this whole situation really is…

“Isn’t that why you left in the first place?” Nate finally answers evasively – as if he is afraid to tell Peter the truth (even though they both know he knows).  
And in a small burst of desperation - because he _needs_ this, the flight, the running away, the thinking about it, the fucking truth for once from someone who gains nothing from lying to him – he exclaims with a trembling voice,  
“I left to get back my life.”

And it’s disgusting how true he feels it is, even though it couldn’t sound more selfish, so he adds quietly, “I wanna fix my family.”

All Nate does is sigh.

 

* * *

 

“I swear to God this guy is trying to kill me.”

The groan escaping his lips distantly reminds him of a sixty years old, but every muscle in his body aching for some rest makes it insignificant. With heavy breaths he finally enters the lab through the open door – at least one things seems to stay the same – and leans against the doorframe to his left, because the only chair in the room is occupied. When Tony doesn’t react to his conversational gambit, he adds with a grumpy voice, “You know, the physician you’re forcing me to see, because our team kinda shot me out of the sky?”

No answer.  
Not even an acknowledgement.

It’s worse than expected, even in this situation – whatever can count as normal right now.  
Maybe he finally fell asleep after powering through three nights straight?  
Before Rhodey is able to limp his way forward to Tony’s side and check whether he drank himself into a coma or not, he begins to notice multiple things though, as the pain finally ebbs away for some precious seconds.  
Tony has his head buried in his hands – a safe indicator that he really fell asleep in the middle of brooding, but his bouncing knee is telling otherwise. And then there is something glimmering to his right. Shards are sprinkled over the floor beside the doorway, directly under a dark, wet spot on the wall.

When he recognizes them – the fading colors so clearly embedded in his memory, a dark pit opens in his stomach and nearly floors him.  
“Oh Tony…”

For a moment he can’t decide whether it’s anger or pity causing the rushing noise in his ears.  
Because the second one is nothing Tony deserves nor wants right now or ever, Rhodey focuses on the first.  
“This is the one Peter made you in kindergarten.”  
Not a question, but a statement. Tony answers anyway.

“I know.”  
His tight voice and the barely audible whisper make Rhodey close his eyes. Of course he feels the pain. How can he not?  
A deep trembling breath. Rhodey has no clue what to say.

“I’m losing it.”  
And there it is, the opening Rhodey has been waiting for since he woke up in a hospital to a physically and emotionally beaten best friend that refused to loose the bottle in his hand and just _talk_ to him.  
He has to be careful – one wrong move and Tony shies away again like he always tends to do when faced with things he can’t solve. Not on his own anyway. So he stays silent for a moment. Regards the tense form of his best friend and tries to ignore the flaring pain in his leg.

“What exactly?”  
Of course he knows the answer – it couldn’t be more obvious, even for someone who doesn’t know Tony behind the fortresses of walls he pulled up somewhere in between begging his father to love him and losing his mother. But he asks him anyway like he always does, when Tony needs to say it out loud to _realize_.

“Everything. My mind. Peter… Steve.”

With a deeper sigh his posture changes; he can’t sit still, lifts his head and shoulders to stand up and walk around the center table. Still with his back to Rhodey, still not looking in his direction. Because of the shards.  
“And for once I have no fucking clue how to fix it.”

“Do you really want to?”  
The question is out before he can think about it, colder than he intentioned and than Tony probably deserves, but…  
He can fully understand him, more than anyone else out of the Avengers, since he was there from the beginning on and saw every cruel, dirty detail, but Tony needs to realize what he does with lashing out at his loved-ones, once he lets himself drop into one of his moods they tried to get rid of years ago; once Pepper decided he wasn’t worth the pain and worry.

“Of course I want to,” Tony mumbles bitterly and barely suppresses the anger with trembling fists. Of all people having Rhodey asking him something like that hurts – but what kind of friend would he be not to?  
“Really? Because it doesn’t seem so at the moment. Just yesterday you talked about your husband as a – and I quote – ‘ _piece of shit that can rot in hell’_ in front of your clueless son, whom you left behind with no explanation whatsoever after his break-down.”

For a second Tony stills as if he is about to turn around. Instead he keeps standing behind the desk, unmoving and edgy, with an accusation on his lips that nonetheless gives way to the hidden worry and confusion in his voice.  
“I thought you talked to him.”

“No, because it’s not my place to tell him and he really needs to hear it from you.”

“How much we screwed up?”

“Yes,” Rhodey replies simply and ignores the dripping sarcasm in Tony’s voice. It works. With barely hidden surprise Tony finally gives up his position to turn around and face Rhodey, a deep frown and troubled expression gracing his face that haven’t been there before, when Rhodey left for New York City this morning.  
“He deserves an explanation from you. How things did a 180 for the kid, which political troubles you kept away from him, because you two thought you would protect him and what will happen now.”

“I don’t even know that myself,” Tony sighs and openly shows his distress for Rhodey to see.  
The fact alone sends shivers down his aching spine.  
“Then figure it out. But do so with Peter together. I know Steve and you hurt each other massively and it’s not that I easily forget this whole mess to go back to the way before, but… Dammit, Tony, you have a son to think about. Both of you.”

It’s his cue to leave.  
For several minutes the silence in the lab stretches on. At last Tony deflates with a trembling sigh and finally glances at the shards with a sharp pain in his eyes, as if they physically cut him.  
Then he slowly walks over to pick up the pieces. One by one.

 

* * *

 

“Careful, don’t cut your hand.”

“I won’t.”

“Fucking asshole,” Nate mumbles from above Peter, while he kneels on the ground and picks up the pieces of his broken glass. He can feel the glare his companion sends at the back of the guy’s head (who is way too tall to call him an asshole, when he is still in hearing distance), before the bell above the door jingles upon him leaving.  
“I am so sorry,” the young waitress blabbers, as she kneels down at Peter’s side to wipe up the rest of his coke. For an awkward moment her shoulder-length hair gets in the way and blond strands land in his face, which results in him nearly hitting her in the face, before both of them break out laughing.

“Sorry,” she repeats herself, but doesn’t sound as embarrassed and flustered as before.  
With an honest smile Peter stops her with a wave of his hand. “Not your fault for having rude customers,” he replies and tries not to use the same word Nate did, while an imaginary _‘Language!’_ swirls around in his head.

“Where are you guys from? Haven’t seen you about and usually we rarely have new faces around here,” she quietly asks and glances up at him for a moment, before her eyes return to her task.  
Admittedly… she has pretty eyes. And a kind smile. And-  
“New York City,” he quickly mutters to stop himself from embarrassing himself not only mentally, but also physically in the not too distant future, when another voice ends the beginning of their little conversation.

“Gwen?”  
With a quick look over her shoulder she gets up and carefully takes the broken pieces of glass from him. “Thank you for your help, I’ll get you another one on the house-“

“No need, we have to leave.”  
With a silent glare Peter turns around, but Nate’s eyes are focused on something out of his line of sight. Quickly he puts some money notes onto the table, enough for a nice tip for Gwen, before he claps Peter on the shoulder and starts to leave the diner.  
“Let’s go.”

“Sorry, um- thank you. Bye.”  
A short wave over his shoulder is all he manages to say goodbye to the confused girl, then he is being led away and down the shabby road towards a plump looking man with grayish hair and a grim look on his face – until Nate calls out to him and his face seems to darken even further, once he recognizes the grinning SI-employee.

“Julia’s brat? What have I done to deserve you visiting me all the way out here?”

Nate doesn’t seem to care at all about his impolite behavior and nonchalantly shrugs, before he falls in step beside the guy who distantly reminds Peter of a farmer. “An old favor. Nothing much.”  
With a grunt the guy falls silent beside Nate, ignores him for a minute until they arrive on a strung-out field on the outskirts of the small town, before he turns a skeptic eye back on Nate. “Of what kind?”

“A short flight with your machine for the two of us.”  
For the first time he seems to acknowledge Peter’s silent presence behind of them. Before the scowl on his face can deepen any further in obvious curiosity and suspicion, Nate puts himself in between them and refuses to budge.

“Who is-“

“My nephew. Tom. We wanted to visit a family friend, but getting a flight on short notice is a nightmare, you know how it is,” he keeps on blabbing, while all of them know it’s utter bullshit.  
“Sure I do,” farmer-guy mumbles sarcastically, but instead of calling them out like Peter expects him to do like everyone else always does, he simply shrugs with a heavy sigh and reluctantly gives in. “I’m not flying you over the fucking country, just so you know. After last time I’m so done with you guys, tell that your dear mother.”

“Will do, thank you very much, Henry,” Nate cheerfully replies and puts Peter even more on edge. For being a simple IT-department employee, he knows an awful lot about behaving like aunt Nat, whenever she wants something and turns eerily nice to get it one way or another.  
Also he has no clue what to make of that guy. Not at all, despite their hour-long car ride here. Travelling into a foreign country, or even state, with him possibly isn’t his brightest idea, he briefly considers, while they cross the mowed down field towards a tiny plane.

Like…  
Genuinely tiny.

Peter doesn’t jet around the world in first class seats and airplanes with his family, since they successfully managed to somehow keep him out of the press with sneaky entrances and a lot of bribery on dad’s part, but Peter genuinely doubts they’ll fit in there with Henry’s broader statue, who seems oblivious of their upcoming doom.

“Ever seen one up close, kid?” he suddenly addresses Peter and comes to a stop beside one of the wings to pat it caringly.  
“Not one like that,” he mumbles his reply and tries to smile politely, but Henry has already turned back to Nate. Rude.

“I can’t bail out just like that or Mary is going to kill me, so you’ll have to wait for your little trip to your ‘relatives’,” he says with proper air quotes and Peter rates his companion for not moving a muscle at the ridiculous sight. “But have a proper look at her, while I’ll fill the tank and then tell Mary that we will have guests. You should still know your way around her, just don’t touch anything important.”  
When he turns around to teeter back to the farm house, Nate is climbing faster into the small cockpit than Peter can think about his strange encounter.

“Should you really be in there? I have a feeling he’ll kick you out in the middle of the flight.”

“You heard the man,” Nate replies easily with the same grin on his face that makes Peter slightly uncomfortable. “Come on, get in.”  
When he follows suit and climbs onto the small seat directly to Nate’s right, he tries not to touch anything more than necessary. Somehow Henry reminds him a lot of Happy, when he is in one of his moods again.

“How do you know him anyway?”

“Family friend. He knows my mother from when I was little. I think I was responsible for most of his grey hair he rocks now,” Nate tells him with a smug face and begins to flip some switches without acknowledging Peter’s objections.

“He has barely any left,” he mumbles instead with some pity for farmer-guy, because apparently Nate has been some Flash-on-steroids-kind-of-kid, if Henry’s remarks are anything to go by.  
“Exactly,” Nate confirms happily and flips another switch, until the lights turn on. With a nervous glance through the window in front of them Peter checks whether Henry is already on his way back.

“You really shouldn’t be-“

It hits him out of nowhere like a truck at full-speed.  
Bending over he clutches the handle of the door and breathes in a deep gasp, while his senses are being flooded by _something_. His head hurts, his stomach makes an unpleasant flip and Peter fears he is about to see his meal from the diner again in a second, when a hand on his shoulder feels uncomfortably… much.

“Peter?! Hey, what’s going on? Are you alright?”  
And then it turns, shifts and he is left with a weird tingling in his neck that puts him more on edge than seeing his parents fight a seemingly indestructible opponent named Ultron on national TV.

“We need to go,” he presses out breathlessly and turns to Nate’s pale and worried face. The grin and former amusement have disappeared completely.

“What are you talking about?”  
And then, when Nate doesn’t lift a finger to follow his request, the panic sets in and the tingling increases to a point that leaves him looking out of the window in open terror. Nothing else is able to form a coherent thought in his mind – something is going on, something really, _really_ bad. He just knows somehow, Nate needs to realize they have to leave, as fast and as far as possible-

He only realizes he rambled out loud, when a hand in his neck and a calm and assuring “Okay” stop him and leave him light-headed. Slowly stuff begins to come back – the tingling stays though.  
The noises surrounding him grow louder to a point, at which the distant shouts fade away. Henry is running out of the farm with surprising speed, a furious expression embedded on his face. The plane slowly rolls forward, then faster, Henry is nearly there, ready to yank open the door and pull him out by force –

Shots cut through the air.  
Peter flinches. A shout. His own.

And with wide eyes he stares at the blood splattered across the window and Henry’s lifeless body sinking towards the ground, before the plane lifts into the air and away from it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry for the delay. I started my new apprenticeship and I literally typed about 200 words this week, because I was gone all day every day. Not sure I can crush out the next chapter this weekend, since I still need to pre-write/note it down in detail. Bear with me guys, at least the chapter is about 4k words long. Also - thank you for the continuing support. I love every kudo, every comment, every bookmark, every sub and hit. <3
> 
> Fun Facts:  
> \- 'Tom' was chosen fully on purpose  
> \- Gwen wasn't supposed to appear in this story at all - she was going to have a bigger role in the sequel. Still has, but well, here goes her first appearance.  
> \- Time-Line wise I'll just stretch the whole part before this story. Like... every Avengers movie etc., since I finally decided that Stony got Peter really early in this AU. How and why will be focused on in more detail in the sequel at the latest. Marvel loves to play and mess with timelines, so do I.


End file.
